She enters as a ghost would: her steps are not audible, and she has a way of slipping from your gaze that makes you wonder whether she was not just a momentary illusion, a trick of the light that glinted off a polished surface, perhaps a reflection of the snow outside the window
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"These are not the Halls of Mandos then. I thought so." She nods, saying these words more to herself than to José and lifts up a hand to glance at the translucent fingers. "What happened to make it possible for unhoused spirits to walk the world?"
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"Fëanáro."
She stands waiting, but her hands are stretched out to him.
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"Mo... Míriel."
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